


I Love You, Kid

by NobleZeda



Category: The Maze Runner Series - James Dashner
Genre: FUCK YOU, First Kiss, First Meetings, First Time, Fluff, Grinding, Internet, Loss of Virginity, M/M, Mutual Pining, Newt's name is Jamie, Smidge Of Angst, Video & Computer Games, YouTube
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-10-28
Updated: 2014-11-11
Packaged: 2018-02-19 02:27:44
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 2
Words: 18,300
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2371055
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/NobleZeda/pseuds/NobleZeda
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Step One: Make sure they know you exist.<br/>Step Two: Get them into light conversation. (Trick them if you have to.)<br/>Step Three: Love them how you want them to love you. Subtly, at first, so you don't weird them out.<br/>Step Four: Tell them, see what happens.<br/>Step Five: Move on. (WARNING: Not always applicable.*)</p><p>*Some variations may apply.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

It isn't a huge deal for Thomas. It isn't something to worry his family or bug his friends with. It isn't something of apocalyptic proportions that needs to be solved  _right now right away_. And it most certainly isn't a matter of life and death. So Thomas takes the piss and searches up an advice blog on Tumblr.

After perusing for a few moments, he finds one with a decent appearance and, frankly, amazing responses. The general public seem to love this guy - this Newt, as he calls himself. He seems to have an answer for everything under the sun, whether it's  _my socks don't match my shorts_ or something like  _my house is on fire what the fuck do i do help_. So Thomas takes the anxiety-filled journey to his ask box and leaves a simple but elegant message.

**Im out of cat food and have literally no money left. How do I take care of Kipshun?**

And, Thomas doesn't know where the  _fuck_ that came from. That wasn't even close to what he wanted to ask. He doesn't even have a cat. But still, he presses anon and sends the message. A part of him really wants to test out just how sincere this guy is. So he goes back to Newt's main blog and waits, rather impatiently, for this guy to get his ask. The last post was made just seven minutes ago (a distressed cry for help from a transgender girl worried about validation. Thomas suddenly feels bad for wasting this guy's time when other people have real problems.) so he should still be online. Thomas's impatience is renewed as he pushes his subconscious aside.

He refreshes the page rapidly, staring at the stubborn first post suspiciously. And then it changes.

Thomas gets a reply that's two paragraphs long, and he doesn't know how he feels the entire time he reads it. (He goes through it twice.)

_-Hey there. So first off, don't panic. I don't have a lot of detail to go on here, but that's fine. I'm just going to assume money is usually tight but maybe something especially costly came up this month that was unexpected, but yeah... so second off, since I already used first off, you should see some of your neighbors. Lots of people own cats, and if there's that whole saying about a cup of sugar, Im sure it applies to cat food too._

_If that's not possible, you could always grab something makeshift from your fridge - but first you'll want to look up a nutrition guide (there might be something about specific breeds, I'm not sure, I'm a dog person) and conform to that as best as possible, for obvious reasons. If this looks like it's going to be an issue for more than a day or two, you should consider leaving Kipshun with a friend. It's in his best interest. Not to sound like a judge at a custody trial. Good luck!_

So Thomas just sits there for a minute, dumbfounded, because this guy is a  _nice human being_. It hits Thomas that this may be the reason that he started an  _advice_ blog.

Then he clicks on the link to Newt's 'about' because he has to learn more about this delightful creature, and is whisked into a strange new world of heart-hammering and wide eyes. The first thing the page says, in bold, all capital letters, is:

**THIS PAGE IS TO MAKE PEOPLE MORE COMFORTABLE WITH SHARING INTIMATE DETAILS. IM NOT A CONCEITED BASTARD. USUALLY.**

Thomas grins. Beneath that is a supposed picture of Newt. He's blond, with deep brown eyes and thin arms and killer shoulders that make Thomas's throat clench. He wants to  _know_ this guy, wants to go to school the next day and miraculously see Newt walking down the hall to math class and talk to him. But he settles for reading Newt's little blurb.

_Okay so I suppose I should start by saying that my name is Newt (not really, but my name is Newt). Im 19 and I live in the UK. I help my friends with problems and they suggested that I start this blog, and at first I thought it was dumb, and then I took a shower and thought about it some, and now i run an advice blog for all you lovely buggers._

_when i was 5 I ate a bug at my parents wedding. when I was 7 i married my friend Ben to a wasp at school and then my friend Gally stepped on it and killed it before they could even go on their honeymoon. when i was 13 i kissed a girl and she cried. when i was 19 i moved out of my parents house and lost all direction in life and now i work at best buy and make youtube videos to pay rent._

_there you go. now you know about my lovely little life. my ask box is always open, almost like thats the actual point of  this blog. weird._

Thomas clicks back to the main blog. He has to know this guy, has to share more words with him in this short life with so few hot people. By the time the page loads, two more questions have been answered. One is about how to deal with fears (answered in nearly three paragraphs) and the other is about baking a cake for a family reunion. Thomas reads them both, and his again, and the next few. He scrolls through four pages of this guy's blog just reading.

And then he realizes that for a second he forgot why he came here in the first place. It comes back to him just as quickly, and he's glad of the not-actual-excuse-but-legitimate-reason to click on the ask box again. The same  _How can I help_ header is staring back at Thomas.

**My English class gives me anxiety and I have to give an oral presentation tomorrow that I've barely started. What do I do?**

Thomas clicks anonymous again, because for some reason he feels majorly embarrassed at the thought of Newt knowing about his anxiety and actually replying to him. When he goes back to the main page, there are no new answers. Thomas switches back to the tab on page 5 of Newt's blog and keeps reading. Every single answer, no matter how illiterate and/or trivial the problem, is caring and constructive and genial. 

Thomas refreshes the home page after a moment, and there's another reply waiting for him.

_I won't bullshit you by telling you not to get anxious, that's so silly, hah a h A! because obviously you are aware of how your own mind works, and that's fine. what always helped me when I had social issues was to think about how i perceived others - i generally didn't notice something they might be acutely aware of, like how they said a certain word or the way they walked. If it helps you, just picture you as yourself, watching someone else. Chances are, they aren't watching you as carefully as you think._

_and as for the whole "due tomorrow" part, don't worry. Abraham Lincoln wrote the Gettysburg address on the back of a buggin envelope. i'm not sure which time zone you live in, but either way, you still have plenty of time. try to think of saying things that have been said before in a new way. follow a standard outline in a more creative way. thats the best i can think of without more details on the project. worst comes to worst, you can always explain your issue to the teacher. English teachers are usually good about that sort of thing, but I certainly have no accurate call for that. And if they don't listen, know that it isn't the end of the world. i hope that helped at least a little, and if it didnt, please let me know :)_

Thomas reads through it four separate times. If it isn't the advice, it's Newt's calming personality that somehow reassures him. He feels inspired; he wants to start the project now. But, at the same time, he doesn't want to distance himself from Newt's blog.

He clicks the ask link again, not quite sure what he's going to do about it.  _How can I help_ waits patiently.

**It's the english class kid again. That sounds like itll work. Thanks! Something else, though - how do I talk to someone I barely know if I want them to like me?**

While Thomas waits for the reply, he sets his laptop on the side of his bed and strips out of his school clothes and into a pair of ratty jeans and an old t-shirt proclaiming some fandom that he's long since retired from. He sets his bag next to his bed and pulls out the large black binder that he uses for all of his classes, flips to the English section.

 The report will actually be short and boring, but he's had a few ideas stewing in the back of his mind that, with Newt's help, he might be able to put to good use. He sets out a pile of flashcards, spread before him on the bed, blank and waiting. The first is labeled INTRODUCTION. That is the extent of his current preparedness.

He checks the blog again, not even denying that it's procrastination. Newt hasn't replied yet. Thomas starts to doubt that he's still online. He clicks refresh again. Still nothing. Maybe Newt realizes how terrible Thomas is at being subtle. Thomas forces his eyes onto his flashcard and starts writing words, even if they don't necessarily make perfect sense yet.

Thirty seconds later, he's clicking refresh. Still. Nothing. It's maddening.

He resolves to check after every flashcard he finishes. That plan goes to the pot as soon as he gives himself one last click for luck, and  _there_. His reply is waiting for him. A burst of warmth and something else shoots out of his chest and blossoms at his core.

_Hello again Kid! any chance you could come off anon and talk to me face to face so I can get more details?_

Thomas frowns slightly, chewing on the eraser of his pencil. He doesn't want to talk to Newt like that. Especially when it's  _Newt_  he's talking about. He navigates over to Newt's ask box for a third time.

**Hello. Kid here. Im not super comfortable with that. Got any general suggestions?**

Thomas clicks anonymous and submits it. He feels like someone has shoved a large fork in his gut and started twisting things up in there. Somehow, it's not entirely unpleasant.

He focuses on the flashcards, because Newt told him to. He has to do this report. He has to stop being a useless human and pave his own future, beginning with these flashcards. Okay, maybe a quick refresh.

In a surprising contrast to the time it took him to respond to Thomas's last ask, Newt has now answered this one in record timing.

_okay! Thats cool, no worries. now uhhh i dunno your gender or sexuality or anything like that so im just gonna give you 'you' and 'they' you get me? Cool. so first thing you want to do is make sure they know you exist.  thats sort of important. and then you dont want so overwhelm them with your undoubtedly charming presence, so sort of subtly ease them into conversation. any way you can. Then do as you'll do, and when they time feels right, say what you need to say. they wont always feel the same way back, but sometimes they do, so there ya go._

 

\+ + +

 

Thomas logs onto Tumblr immediately after school the next day. If he scrolls back, he can retrace the entirety of his and Newt's full-fledged conversation. It had turned from advice to something else completely (television shows), and so Thomas has come back hoping to continue it. When he finds his way to the page in his labyrinth of bookmarks, his eyes widen a fraction.

The people on the page are talking about  _him_.

**Who was that Kid?**

_I have no idea but hes gr8_

**Are you going to make Kid a tag?**

_Sure. #Kid Being A Shuck_

_there you go_

**are  u goign to talk to kid again??!!!?!**

_not sure. hopeful_

And they went on. Thomas's face was a twisted mass of confusion, joy, and embarrassment. Instantly, he wanted to reveal himself to Newt, to speak to him with the privacy of ask boxes, to get to know him better; but at the same time, he felt like there was all of this pressure on him now, to hit it off with Newt and give the people what they want.

**Hey. Its Kid**

He double checks that he's hit anonymous before he submits it to Newt. Even still, he's nervous that some glitch will show up or that Newt will somehow figure it out.

Thomas knows that he has other homework to do, but he doesn't much care. He can't help but scroll through Newt's blog. Eighty percent of the recent content is about him, and Thomas has never had this kind of attention before. Now he only hopes that Newt will actually believe it's really him. He refreshes the page, and there it is-

_hello again! I see you still don't want me to know who ya bloody are, eh? even though it woULD MAKE THIS CONVERSATION A LOT EASIER AND MORE PRIVATE WINK WINK. but hey, how are ya. How'd the presentation go?_

Thomas tells him. It went fine and he's good and no he doesn't want to say who he is. Yet. But he likes talking to Newt and if Newt is okay with this (he is), then Thomas doesn't care if everybody can see it.

He stays up late into the night. His Mom brings him dinner and he finishes his homework after procrastinating for hours, but the entire time, he's talking to Newt. Minho and Teresa both ask him if he wants to hang out, but he declines both offers. Newt doesn't seem to be getting bored either. It's at close to 9:30, when they're talking about their favorite video games, that Thomas gets an answer that he isn't quite prepared for.

_same 100%  tHE END OF THAT GAME KILLED ME AND SONGBIRD ESPECIALLY I JUST_

_anyway so listen i totally have a thing to play a beta game but its an mmorpg and i could hook you up if you wanted to play a little tonight?? just a thought you obviously dont have to_

Thomas gets up, leaps,  _prances_  around his fucking room. His heart soars, and he lets out a silent shout of joy. And then he sits back on his bed because that was a weird fucking thing for him to do. He wants to respond with YES YES YES HOW WHEN but he retains his composure slightly enough to manage otherwise.

**Of course. When? How?**

Thomas's heart is pounding when he goes back to the main page. The entire blog is abuzz with mentions of Kid. Thomas has even made it onto Newt's FAQ page: " _Who's Kid?_ " " _No shuckin idea_ ". 

Thomas clicks refresh. Still no answer. He's getting impatient. He wants to have time to talk to Newt when they aren't under a thousand eyes, wants to get to know him under the safety of a mask,  _wants to play video games with him until he has to go to school tomorrow_.

_Dyou wanna make a new blog w/o any personal info real quick so i can drop the link in that ask? Confidentiality and all that shite, yannow._

Thomas is making a new blog before he can think straight. He button mashes for the URL, then gives it to Newt. A moment later, there's a bright red bubble above the little envelope and Thomas clicks it so hard his mouse might break.

 

\+ + +

 

The game is called something weird that Thomas can't pronounce, but it starts with an O and it's written in a funky font with black on slightly darker black so it looks cool. The graphics are good, even in Beta, and the first thing that happens is a giant raid in a flaming village, so he's alright with that. 

[A5 - CrankItUp]: You likeeeeeeeeeee?

[A2 - ItsKid]: This is so cool

[A7 - LeadMeUpScotty]: Every1 loaded?

[A2 - ItsKid]: How did you get access to this game??

[A5 - CrankItUp]: I know some people yaknow

[A5 - CrankItUp]: I sort of have a small army of followers thank to my and my flatmates youtube haha

[A6 - GHOverlord]: Newt quit showing off and rank up with us u twat

[A2 - ItsKid]: youtube?

[A5 - CrankItUp]: Its a hobby pretty much, but yeah. please dont feel obligated to watch on account of im very lame. Slim it, Gal.

[A2 - ItsKid]: Ha I doubt it

[A2 - ItsKid]: I mean, youre able to make me want to keep talking to you for more than 5 seconds

[A6 - GHOverlord]: Im poisoning ur cereal tonight

[A3 - Sigarette]: Warriors up ahead klo every1

[A5 - CrankItUp]: But somehow I stil dont know your name there Kid.

[A2 - ItsKid]: Well you wouldnt find me all that impressive.

[A5 - CrankItUp]: And yet youre able to make me want to keep talking to you for more than 5 seconds. Is having me know who are are really worse than having like 3000 people read everything we say to each other?

[A2 - ItsKid]: Well when you find out what a lame loser I am you wont want to talk to me anymore so uhhhh I guess yeah

[A5 - CrankItUp]: Pffffffff youll quit being a loser once I find out who you are bc the only loser thing youre doing is keeping it a secret

[A7 - LeadMeUpScotty]: Would you shuckfaces take your adorable love fight somewhere else bc weve got shit to raid

Thomas frowns slightly as a glimmer of heat races through his face. The game is hectic, and they have a small group of seven (required by the game for the tutorial, or Newt and Thomas would have played solo) but even still, Thomas has to agree that it is slightly better than having several thousand people read every word they say. It carries on like that for several hours, well past the time that Thomas's parents think he's asleep.

At four in the morning, he decides that he should probably sleep because he has to get up in three hours for school. He doesn't want to. He wants to quit school and talk to Newt for the rest of his life, because Newt is so much deeper and funnier when they're talking one-on-one (surrounded by five others, but as soon as they got past the tutorial it was like paradise) than when they're surrounded by his followers.

Newt finds out what timezone Thomas lives in by constant concerned pestering about sleeping. Thomas realizes-by-association that Newt has also effectively stayed up all night to talk to Thomas. Thomas wonders why he doesn't have work or school that day, but doesn't question it, because he's still talking to Newt.

Thomas reluctantly says goodbye to Newt. He signs out of Oaksljfaslkjfakjhfdsjkfh or whatever the hell it's called and makes one last stop at Newt's blog, eyes itching like a motherfucker. He leaves an ask saying thanks for the great time with the game and he'll talk to Newt tomorrow, if Newt wants to, and goodnight.

He closes his laptop and sets it on his nightstand, then slides under the covers feeling incredibly warm and happier than he thought possible. Almost instantly, he's asleep.

 

\+ + +

 

After school that day, blessed-be that it's Friday, Thomas scoots into his room and opens up his laptop. He ignores the stinging tiredness under his eyes, because it's quickly ebbing away as excitement replaces it. The first thing he does is search for Newt on Youtube.

Suddenly, Newt's face is flooding the results under a mountain of videos. Thomas clicks on the first one, titled 'GALLY'S OPPRESSING ME.' 

And, dear  _God,_ Thomas did not need to learn how funny and charming Newt's  _voice_ actually is, because it's like cool velvet against his ears. Newt's making jokes about his flatmate rearranging everything in the cupboards and dominating the television at night, and every once in a while it cuts to sneakily-caught footage of a kid - Gally - on the couch or in the kitchen or the bathroom, doing these "oppressive" things. Thomas is grinning like an idiot through the entire thing. At the end, Newt announces that every Thursday he uploads a new video and Gally uploads one every Monday and to keep an eye out for the both of them and Thomas is clicking onto the channel before he can think straight. His thinking is the farthest thing from straight. His thinking is incredibly, incredibly gay.

There are over 200 videos on the channel, and Thomas scoffs aloud at the memory of  _it's a hobby_. He spends the next hour watching them before he remembers that he told Newt they would talk again.

Newt's blog is still bustling with Kid Commentary, and Thomas feels slightly starstruck reading all of these comments. People think he's  _adorable_. What the  _hell_? His own  _mother_ barely talks about him this way, and she's _crazy_ about him.

He scrolls back far enough to where he had been last night. It confuses him. Newt hasn't responded to his ask. Newt has a policy. Newt should have responded to Thomas's ask by now.

A jet of something cold and sickening shoots through Thomas. A thought sticks in his head like glue: he hadn't pressed anon, had he? He had been tired and careless and he had fucked everything up. Heart racing, he clicks back to his dashboard. Sure enough, there's a bright little one sticking out from above the white envelope. Thomas swallows harshly.

Newt's reply was waiting for him.

_there's no way you coud be messing with me here, right? uhh hello. so I guess you forgot to hit anon. up to you where we go from here.  
(FOR THE RECORD I AM STILL VERY INTERESTED IN PURSUING YOUR FRIENDSHIP OKAY IF IT WAS NOT PLAIN ENOUGH IN SUBTEXT TOMMY)_

Thomas can barely breathe. He doesn't now how he feels. His jaw is slack and his eyes feel compressed. He doesn't know what to do with himself. He doesn't want to think about how Newt knows him now. 

He wants to sleep now. He wants to not reply to Newt at all. He wants to forget about this whole thing and never exist again.

 _I'm going to bed_ , he thinks, because it seems like the only rational thing he can do. He can't deal with Newt right now, and he can't talk to his friends about it because they would never understand, so he slides out of his jeans and gets under the covers, and lets his worries rock him to sleep.

When he wakes up again, it's still light out, but only barely. Miraculously, the entire world is still spinning. Thomas doesn't want to stay awake, but neither can he force himself back to sleep. He tries to read for a while, and then he watches some TV, and his mom brings him dinner for the third night in a row and they talk for a while but Thomas doesn't tell her what's wrong, and he has a few text conversations with his friends, and then he decides that he can't avoid it any longer unless he wants to try his hand at being a hermit.

With unsteady hands he pulls his laptop up onto the bed and logs on. Tumblr is still there. Newt's message is still waiting.

Thomas goes back to Newt's blog. The activity is fairly dead. He hasn't answered any new questions, which isn't like him. Thomas's stomach shrinks to the size of a peanut. He goes into the ask box. This time, he doesn't click anon.

**it is me. yeah i did forget. it's not like we can pretend i didn't though. so i guess this is fine.**

Thomas doesn't really believe it, but he presses send anyway. He doesn't want to hurt Newt's feelings, make him feel like Thomas doesn't appreciate him or something. And then he sinks backwards into his pillows and lets out a soft groan of despair. 

Almost as soon as he checks again - Jesus Christ, does Newt ever  _do_ anything in real life - a reply is waiting for him.

_Oh thank bloody christ. I was so not about to let you abandon me Tommy. Its okay that I call you Tommy, right?_

**Yeah, its okay. Howd your day go?**

By the time Thomas clicks back to his dashboard, he sees that he has a new follower. It's Newt's personal blog. Thomas can hardly breathe. He presses follow back anyway.

_bloody brilliant between the waiting for you to get online and the anxiety over how you would react. not to mention gallys been takin the piss the entire time. not to sound ungrateful._

Thomas, inexplicably, laughs. He can feel his nerves ebbing away. Already, he starts to wonder why he was so nervous about Newt finding out his identity. Newt is still Newt. Thomas is still Thomas. Now they're just they're individual selves together.

_holy god im looking through your selfie page why doNT YOU WARN A BLOKE_

 

\+ + +

 

They trade snapchats the following day. Or, Thomas makes a snapchat and adds Newt. The first one he receives is of Gally standing in a kitchen with his back to the camera and the accompanying explanation: "he's butterin toast." Thomas doesn't know why it makes him laugh so hard.

He also doesn't know what in the hell he's supposed to send in reply to that. He takes a picture of his bedroom ceiling and types: "hello to you too."

The next one he receives is actually Newt, and he's making some ridiculous face with his mouth open and his eyes filled with some passionate emotion not dissimilar to rage, and it says: "NO YOU DONT UNDERSTAND"

And almost immediately after, he gets another, a shot of a large flatscreen television with a Guitar Hero menu established: "HES GEARING UP FOR AN ALLNIGHTER." And on the bottom, in bright red, is drawn crudely:  _HeLP_.

Thomas grins. He's not good at taking pictures of himself, but he does now. He's lying in bed with headphones in and he keeps his face blank, sending only one word. "Sucks."

The one that Newt sends in return has him sporting a large and exaggerated frown. "Shuck head. Send me more selfies." Thomas likes this picture especially, with Newt's mirthful eyes and the slight hunch of his shoulders. He holds it, and screenshots it.

Thomas forces his face to remain neutral, and takes the same picture as before. There is only one altercation - he's giving Newt the finger. "Like this? ps snapchatting is scary."

The next picture to strike his phone is one of Newt with a very passionate face of rage. His mouth is open in protest and his  _brown holy shit beautiful brown_ eyes are inflamed with the likeness of a thousand furies. "IF SOMEONE HAD AN INTRNTNL PLAN" it reads. Thomas is unimpressed. He swivels his stomach so he can capture the other end of his room, littered with posters and a desk cluttered with papers and electronic accessories.

"hello i still live w/ parents."

 

\+ + +

 

They carry on like that for a while, until a month after the first time Thomas went on Newt's blog rolls around. It's like they haven't stopped having their first conversation. Thomas can't think of a time when he's felt more at peace with his life. Everything about Newt is calming to him. Well, everything except the excited jitters that creep all throughout him at the mere thought of Newt.

Thomas logs onto Tumblr one day to a bright red red indicator above his inbox - it's more common than not for him to have a message or two (or thirty-seven) from Newt when he gets back from school.

_do u wanna skype shuckhead_

Thomas does a little-major internal freakout. He bought a webcam two days after he and Newt had started snapchatting, but he hasn't yet used it. 

**yes yes yes just give me like a half hour to get my face and shit ready holy fuck okay**

He adds in his contact information and sends it back privately. Thomas doesn't know where to start getting ready - he and Newt have never done a face to face before. They've talked about it, sure, but it's never been something that Thomas thought of as happening so soon. He wants it to be perfect. He can't even think about what might happen if it doesn't go well. Not that it wouldn't.

So he jumps in the shower and scrubs everything down three times and washes his hair twice and tries not to panic the entire time. Also he does that other _thing_ because he really shouldn't think about Newt whiles he's in the shower or about  _Newt being in the shower_.

But he overestimates his time, somehow, and by the time he's stepping out of the small bathroom adjacent to his room, his laptop is abuzz with Skype's insistent ringing.  _Holy shit Newt is calling him and he doesn't even have underwear on_.

He answers it, because he doesn't want to lose the call, but he makes well sure that he's entirely out of frame. "Sorry!" he yells immediately. "Just give me like five seconds."

And then he realizes that his clothes are lying on his bed, which the webcam is angled directly toward, and his dresser is on the other side of it completely. Either he wears dirty clothes (which he is so not going to do) or he ventures into view with only a purple towel wrapped around his waist.

"Bloody shuckin' hell! It's your voice, Tommy!" Newt lets out a few happy chants or noises or something of the sort - apparently brimming with excitement. Thomas doesn't want to look. He doesn't want to cheat, considering Newt can't see him yet either. No matter how badly Thomas wants to look at Newt, he resists.

"Okay, well, uh, yeah. Here's the thing. You see that pile of clothes on my bed? Yeah, I'm supposed to be wearing those. I was a little bit in the shower," Thomas explains. His face feels about a thousand degrees warmer than it should be. He finds it impossible that all of the water hasn't evaporated off of him yet.

"Real nice planning there, Tommy." Thomas can hear Newt's smirk. "I'll call back in a second. Appreciate your baiting me into a weird porno, though."

Thomas lets out several squeaks that should have been words expressing how he absolutely  _was not_ planning any of...  _that_. No way in  _Hell_. "I wasn't-! It was an accident!" he protests, when he finds his words. "I spent too long in the shower!"

He breaks his rule and looks at the screen in defiance, only to find that Newt has already ended the call. Thomas groans and kicks at the air, dislodges his towel in the process. It falls around his ankles and he leaves it for getting dressed. As soon as he has the shirt around his neck, he calls Newt back. Newt answers after the first ring. Thomas's insides are twisted like an evil villain's laugh.

"Hey! Look who's wearing clothes!" are the first words Newt says to him. Thomas feels his stomach jump into his throat. It's  _Newt_. He's a little speechless. Luckily, Newt takes up the incentive. "Oh my God, it's your bloody shuck face, Tommy!" Newt's features lit up in delight. Thomas feels his stomach untwist and, upon being freed, plummet downward within him. "Hello!"

Thomas can't help but grin. He wants to check himself for the trickle of stray water in the self-cam, but he can't take his eyes off of Newt. This feels so surreal. He can feel his throat constrict. "Hi." His voice is soft and wonder-filled. Newt preens.

"This is so cool! I'm talking to your face and that's your voice!" He lets out a relatively quiet shout. Several bangs sound out from somewhere on his side of the camera, thousands of miles away. "Shut it, Gally!" Newt yells, past the camera.

"That your roommate?" Thomas asks. His fingers feel sort of numb. He can't believe he's talking to Newt. He can't believe that Newt is talking to  _him_.

"That your boyfriend?" comes another voice, again from out of the view of the screen. Thomas thinks it must be Gally. He can hear the subtle sneer in the words, but not the accent. He must be American.

"I'll bloody shuck you myself," Newt says, again to Gally.

"Shouldn't you  _shuck_ him?" Gally asks. Newt growls and gets up. Thomas hears a door slam.

"Don't know why I didn't do that in the first place," Newt mutters in embarrassment, scratching idly at the back of his neck. Thomas gives him a small smile.

"Don't worry about it," he mumbles. He doesn't know why he's suddenly shy - this is just Newt. He's been talking to Newt for a full month now. Just the Newt who has heard literally all of his darkest secrets, who stays up until ungodly hours to keep texting Thomas back, who is kind and smart and beautiful and  _perfect_ in every way.

Thomas had told Minho and Teresa about it - and he had been completely right in assuming that they wouldn't understand any of it. They tease him constantly. It seems like every text Thomas gets is immediately followed by, "Is that Newt? Are you dating yet?" from one of them, if not both. The double assaults are always the hardest to fend off. Thomas can feel himself cringing at the memory of the last one. The three of them had nearly tumbled down the stairs and died.

"Gee, I sure hope you learn how to talk at some point, Kid," Newt says, although there is absolutely no bite in his words. Thomas smiles. This is what he misses during the school day, in the classes with hardcore policies against texting. He breaks the rules most of the time anyway.

"This way I don't stutter," Thomas informs him. "When are you going to stop calling me Kid?"

"When it stops buggin' you," Newt answers with a devilish grin. Thomas has the sudden desire to see the grin poised perfectly above his pants. He shakes the thought away as quickly as it comes. Newt doesn't seem to notice, just makes another loud, happy noise at seeing Thomas's face in real time.

 

\+ + +

 

Thomas wishes more than anything that he could explain to Minho and Teresa just how special Newt is to him. It isn't what they think, that he's just like them, except over snapchat and email instead of sitting around in their usual coffee shop after school and drinking their usual drinks - like the trio is doing now. Teresa and Minho share one side of the booth, Thomas and his ego dominate the other.

It isn't that Minho and Teresa are close-minded people. They just don't understand how internet friendship can go so deep. It's something they haven't experienced before. No matter how many times Thomas tries to get them into Tumblr, they just aren't for it. And that's okay, they still get along very well, but sometimes Thomas wishes they had more in common.

Thomas's phone goes off. He abandons his coffee halfway to his mouth to pull it out. He's met with the usual chorus of interrogations.

"Yes. No. Snapchat. No, it's not nudes. I'm not telling him you said hi."

Neither Teresa nor Minho seem the least bit put off. "I love that you're still talking to this guy, Tom," Teresa says, eyes wide as she sips her drink through a straw.

"And you've really never talked to him before?" Minho asks. He is currently picking his way through the chocolatiest muffin he could find. Track season has just ended.

"Yes, I-"

"You know what I mean. Face to face, shuck-head," Minho corrects amiably. On another day, he might have flicked a piece of his food across the table, but Thomas can tell he's savoring his treasure. "In the real actual world that's in... reality."

"You have such a way with words, Minho," Teresa swoons, nudging his hip with her own and fluttering her eyes. Minho scoffs and pushes her back, via hand on face. Teresa licks his hand the second it makes contact. Minho shrieks and starts wiping his palm on her shirt, face the epitome of disgust.

"I have to get to work soon," Thomas lies. He wants to change the subject. He doesn't have to start getting ready for another two hours.

"Oh yeeeaaaahh," Minho says bitterly. "That job that makes you stop hanging out with your friends so you can pay your stupid phone bill and text your stupid boyfriend."

"He's a lot nicer to Tom than you are," Teresa interjects, sticking her tongue out at Minho. Minho mildly glowers. She switches tactics, and Thomas can feel the hunting sneak of a panther looming over him. "You _do_ want to meet Newt, right?" His name always sounds weird coming out of their mouths. It's like they're always silently questioning whether or not they're saying it correctly.

Thomas looks down at his phone. Newt's text is still waiting for him.

_-eVERYONE I KNOW IS CONVINCED WE'RE DATING HELP ME TOMMY MY LOVE_

Thomas groans. His head involuntarily falls onto the table. Despite the fact that Teresa is no longer expecting an answer from him, Thomas has one for her anyway. Yes. Yes, he wants to meet Newt so badly.

 

\+ + +

 

Thomas bursts through his bedroom door. His laptop is already ringing. Thomas rolls his eyes.

"Yes, it's ringing. I'm hanging up now," he tells Newt. He taps his phone and shoves it into his pocket as he clicks his laptop. Newt's face appears instantly, grinning.

"You're a slow one, Tommy," Newt says immediately.

Thomas's mouth falls open, his eyebrows defiant. "What the hell are you talking about? That was, what, two seconds?" he counters. He knows that that was exactly the kind of reaction Newt was hoping for.

"Exactly! Two seconds less of your gorgeous, shuck face in my life, Tommy. Can't handle it. Need you at all hours of the day."

"Might want to consider rephrasing that," Thomas says. He immediately regrets it.

Newt's mouth falls open and he shuts his eyes tight, lets out some godawful moan from the depths of his throat and says in a deep, lusty voice, "I need you, Tommy. Oh God, I need you."

Thomas rolls his eyes again. He tries not to think at all about him, but he knows that it's going to at least flit across his thoughts the next time he's alone, if it's not the center of his focus. "You look comfortable," he notes.

Newt is laying on his bed, thousands and thousands of miles away, in a thin gray shirt and pajama pants. He has headphones tucked into his ears, and he... he just looks adorable, okay? His eyes have that little tilt that means he's trying not to smile, and his lips are sort of tucked into themselves. Even through Skype's shitty quality, Thomas can see how perfect and pink they look.

"I am extremely comfortable," Newt affirms, with a nod. "Gally's out for the night, so I am taking advantage of this completely rare and relaxing miracle."

Thomas tries to force Newt's distracting appearance from his mind. "Excellent," he quips, nodding. "And how's your small army of followers doing?"

"Drivin' themselves crazy wondering where you are, but good," Newt says pleasantly. He looks the epitome of cozy. Thomas wishes more than anything that he could be lying there next to him. "I like to tell them you say hi a lot."

"I know," Thomas says, grinning. "I watch your videos."

Newt's mouth falls open and he rolls his eyes. "Of course you do," he mutters. And then he abruptly changes topic. Thomas gets the sense that he's been trying to build up the courage to do so for the last several minutes. "So... you buggin' like me, right Tommy?"

Thomas blanches, his throat leaping like it wants to jump out of his throat. "I - I-"

"Like, you aren't just talking to me for pity, or whatever?" Newt continues quickly. "Like, you actually enjoy my company?"

Thomas's heart decelerates so quickly that he feels slightly woozy. He nods. "Yeah. Yeah, I do, Newt. Why?" His eyebrows pull together at the sudden, weird question.

Newt shuffles around on his bed like he, impossibly, isn't quite comfortable. Thomas can see his face redden in the dim lighting the bedroom lamp provides. "I... Would you ever want to meet? Like, yaknow. In real life? Maybe?"

Thomas's heart thuds heavily. Of course, he's thought about meeting Newt plenty of times, more times than he can attempt to remember. But Newt can't be serious - how could they ever meet?

"Not getting any younger here, Tommy. This ain't gonna be like our first date again, is it? Remember that talk we had about a conversation being between  _two_ people?" Newt says, like he's teasing, but Thomas can sense the true strain behind the words.

"I..."

 

\+ + +

 

Thomas can barely comprehend what he's watching. It almost doesn't feel right, Newt asking all of these people for money. 

But then, Thomas quietly agrees, he does really want to meet Newt. He wants to not have to worry about staying up too late or keeping Newt up or boring him. So he allows the guilt to ravage his body as he watches Newt ask his followers to donate to a Paypal set up to bring Thomas over to England. He says that he promises to film their meeting and that they'll be live-tweeting it all, if everyone's okay with that. He asks them not to donate if they have money problems or they don't want to. That makes Thomas feel slightly better.

Newt calls him later that night and says that they've already got enough for a one way plane ticket. All of a sudden, everything seems very possible. Thomas realizes with a semi-sickening jolt that he'll have to ask him mom before anything can be confirmed. And that means he has to tell his mom about Newt.

 

\+ + +

 

She beats him to it, miraculously. Thomas makes up his mind the night after Newt gives him the news that he has to tell his mom. Pretty much ten minutes after he starts pacing, a soft knock sounds on the door.

"Come in?" he says curiously. His mom pushes the door partly open and sticks her head in, smiles softly.

"Hey. You got a minute, sweetie?"

Thomas feels his stomach plummet. He nods, his face feeling oddly stiff. His mom edges the rest of the way in, with an air of uncertain worry about her. It makes Thomas's nerves twist.

"Sweetie..." she begins, sitting on his bed. Thomas sits next to her as she composes herself, reaching out and holding one of his hands. "Sweetie, is everything alright?" she asks.

Thomas nods vigorously. "I'm fine. Mom, what's this about?" 

His mother bites the edge of her bottom lip and closes her eyes. After a moment, she opens them again and blurts, "You're not doing drugs, are you, baby?" Her eyes are filled with worry. Besides that, Thomas almost wants to laugh. He nearly does.

"No," he assures her, quickly and honestly. "No, no, Mom. I'm not doing drugs, I promise."

His mother looks like a thousand weights have been lifted from her shoulders. She sighs and her shoulders slump. "Oh. Oh, I'm so relieved," she breathes, patting Thomas's hand with every syllable. "Then, is there something else going on with you?" she asks.

Thomas doesn't know what to say to that. He's too caught off by this whole situation to try to lie. The word slips out of his mouth before he can catch it. "Yes."

All of the weight comes crashing back onto his mother's shoulders. "Oh! Oh, sweetheart, what is it?" she asks. Thomas suddenly feels very guilty. He doesn't know where to begin. His mother is still looking at him like he's about to die any second.

"It's not bad," he manages to get out. Then tension flies from her. "Well, it is." He should really stop playing with her like this. "It is if you count having someone you really want to meet living thousands of miles away and you have the funding and opportunity to meet them but you're not sure your mother will say yes because said someone sort of lives in England and I would be missing a week of school to meet him as bad."

Now, after everything else, Thomas's mother simply looks confused. So Thomas tells her the whole story, sparing very few details. The whole while she listens, nodding softly at some point, but never interrupting. Thomas is grateful. He isn't sure he could have gotten through the whole story without acting like he was talking to the empty space between his walls at some points.

When he finishes, his mother only asks one question, caringly and with concern. "Thomas... do you love this boy?"

Thomas's brain stops functioning for an entire five seconds to scream  _YES_! in hopes that Thomas will be candid with his mother. And he wants to be. He just can't bring himself to admit it out loud yet. He squeaks, "What?"

"Thomas, do you remember when you had a crush on Teresa? That lasted for two years. And you never spoke about her  _that_ way. Newt must be very special," his mother says. Then she repeats herself, as Thomas struggles for air. "Do you love him?"

It's barely a breath that escapes his lips, but it's enough. "Yes."

She reestablishes her hands around his, looks at him deeply with her brown eyes that Thomas always sees staring back at him in the mirror. "Then you're going to meet him," he says. She pauses, then her eyes slide into something like fond suspicion. "This is why you got that new phone plan, isn't it?"

 

\+ + +

 

Thomas wants to dodge a few minutes of math class to tell Newt, so he waits for Minho to get back from the bathroom before he asks Mr. Janson if he can go. Rat Man almost says no, for some ungodly teacher reason, but then seems to recall that Thomas is one of the most promising children in his class who would absolutely never go to the bathroom to call his crush who lives in England instead of learning. Thomas scoots out of the classroom with the delicious taste of victory sitting on his tongue.

The bathroom is thankfully empty when Thomas gets there. He calls Newt immediately, leans against the sink with his hip as it rings.

"Hey, you caught me literally right out of work," Newt says. "Excellent timing, Tommy. I was just about to open my car door."

"Either sit down are take a step back from any and all dangerous objects," Thomas says, in lieu of greeting.

"I am in the middle of the parking lot. All dangerous objects are parked, currently," Newt says. "What is it?"

" _Somehow_..." Thomas begins, then pauses for dramatic effect, "my mother has agreed to send me to England for a week. Thought that mi-"

"Tommy! Are you bloody shuckin' serious?" Newt yells over his words. It makes Thomas break into a grin so wide he feels it in his jaw. "You're gonna come and visit me and we're gonna see each other in real life? You better not be pullin' my leg, I swear to-"

"I'm not joking!" Thomas says, careful to keep his voice down. "There's paperwork and stuff to fill out, but we really just have to pick a flight. And then I'm yours for a week - I won't have to worry about WICKED test scores or finals or any of that shit."

"Tommy, I am so excited. I'm going to drive home very fast and very safely and then I am going to look up flights and I'll text you when I get there okay I'm so excited bye." He says all of that very fast and then hangs up. Thomas is left grinning, alone, in the dirty boy's bathroom.

After math class, Minho and Teresa corner him on the way to gym. They plant themselves on either side of him as they walk to the hallway and Thomas gives an amiable groan.

"Alright, spill. You've been over the moon all day," Teresa urges.

"I haven't seen you this excited in years, ya shank. And I know what it was for last time," Minho side-glances at Teresa, who is too preoccupied with pestering Thomas to notice.

"I'm gonna meet Newt," Thomas blurts, because he realizes now what hell it's been to keep it in. He's practically shaking with excitement, he can barely contain himself. That's when his phone chirps twice, signaling a text from Newt. Thomas pulls his phone out so quickly that his movements blur.

" _What_?"

"Shut up!"

Minho and Teresa both look pleased beyond belief, beaming at Thomas as they all stop so Thomas can look at his phone.

_SUNDAY SUNDAY SUNDAY PLS CAN U GET HERE BY SUNDAY THERES AN 8 AM FLIGHT U COULD BE IN MY LIVING ROOM BY LIKE 5 O CLOCK ON SUNDAY PLS SAY YOU CAN MAKE IT_

Thomas reads the text aloud to his friends, and even if they don't quite understand just what this means to Thomas, they're excited enough to act like they do. Thomas tries to take in everything about this moment. It's the happiest he can ever remember feeling.

 

\+ + +

 

 Time doesn't feel like it's moving too slow or too fast. Time feels like it's going at it's exact normal pace, and Thomas is just acutely aware of every second of it. The airport involves a lot of waiting, and a lot of double-triple-quadruple checking everything. Passport, minor paperwork, suitcase, backpack, phone, and then everything all over again.

_oh my god i cant believe youre going to be here im freaKiGn OuT_

_promise me you wont miss your flight_

**i am standing outside of the door i promise i will not miss my flight**

_when does boarding start_

**ten minutes**

_thats too long_

_tell them to start it now_

**not really in my control, as much as i want them to**

_oh my god tommy you have no idea how excited i am youd better love it here or i'll cry_

**prbobaly gonna cry anyway ya big sotfy**

_SHUT UP TOMMY THIS IS AN IMPORTANT MOMENT IN MY LIFE_

**I feel so bad for Gally right now**

_are you kidding gally got sick of this hours ago hes staying at albys for the week_

**remind me to thank alby every time i see him for the rest of my life**

_which means we'll have the whole place to ourselves and we can make sweet sweet love in every room_

**thats it im not getting on the plane**

_NO WAIT IM SORRY_

**shit shit shit people are talking into little headset thingies i think theyre about to start letting us board i gotta go**

_OH MY GOD OKAY_

_OKAY CALL ME WHEN YOU GET HERE_

_IM FREAKING OUT SO MUCH HOLY SHIT_

_ARE YOU STILL HERE_

_I GUESS NOT OKAY WELL GET HERE SOON_

_BLOODY HELL THIS IS SO STRESSFULL_

 

 

\+ + +

 

Thomas is certain that he could sit next to the dreariest, craziest, most invasive, looniest person on the planet, and it would not spoil this trip for him. Luckily, it doesn't come to that. The person sitting in the seat next to Thomas's can't be older than twelve. He's a chubby kid with curly brown hair. Thomas wonders what he's doing alone on this plane, and how he got his bags into the overhead compartment by himself.

"Hey, I'm Thomas," Thomas says as he sits, because he's excited and friendly. The kid looks up at him, slightly alarmed and slightly curious.

"I'm Chuck," he says in return, still slightly on guard as Thomas lifts up the white cabinet of the overhead compartment and hoists up his big black suitcase. "This your first time on a plane, too?"

Thomas almost wants to laugh at Chuck's inherent innocence. "Nope. What're you riding for, Chuck?" Thomas asks as he flips the lid shut. After a pause, he adds, "If it's okay to ask."

Chuck hesitates with a drawn out, "Ummmmmm." Then he seems to gather his courage. "I'm going to meet my parents."

Thomas looks at him strangely when he sits. "How do'ya mean?" he asks, genuinely interested.

"Well, a couple of months ago I found out I was adopted," Chuck mumbles quietly. "My real parents live in London. I'm going to meet them for the first time." He looks eager to change the subject. "What about you?"

Now Thomas knows how Chuck felt. But he's eager, and even if it sort of smashes Chuck esteem into the ground, Thomas is letting it all spill out before he can stop himself. "I'm going to meet my internet friend who lives in England for the first time today. If everything goes well, I might tell him I'm in love with him."

Thomas catches Chuck's surprised, intrigued look turn into something of dawning realization and slight suspicion. "Wait a second," he says carefully. "This might sound weird, but I have to ask. Are you Kid?"

The question is so strangely formed that Thomas doesn't register it for a second. When he realizes that it makes complete sense to him, his stomach twists. "You know me?" he asks.

"My sister is obsessed with Newt!" Chuck crows. "Just wait until she hears about  _this_! Can I take a picture with you when we land?"

Thomas is in a great mood, so he promises Chuck that they will. The rest of the trip flies by, no pun intended, while Thomas talks to Chuck. Thomas is almost sad when they touch down in London, before he remembers why he took the plane in the first place. True to his word, he snaps a picture with Chuck (they actually swap numbers), and then he exits the terminal, palms sweaty.

With his new friend's absence, time demands Thomas's attention again. It's night now, Thomas remembers, the image out of the window as he'd leaned across Chuck from the aisle seat to peer out surfacing in his mind. All of the lights beneath the dark sky had nearly brought tears to Thomas's eyes. Chuck had called him a sissy for it, but Thomas hadn't cared. It's a perfect memory for the first time he meets Newt.

The phone rings twice before Newt answers. "Holy shit, are you here?"

"Just got out of the baggage claim," Thomas answers, grinning so hard that he feels it in his jaw. "Are-"

" _What_ you bloody asshole, I told you to call me the  _minute_ you landed," Newt scolds. "Hurryhurryhurry go outside and get a cab. There's always a few lined up there and waiting."

Thomas obeys, chattering to Newt the whole time. Neither of them can really put two coherent words together. Thomas is grateful that he isn't the only lovestruck, bumbling, over-excited idiot between the two of them.

"Oh my God you could be here in fifteen minutes. I have to apologize in advance because I cleaned everything so your first impression is going to be horribly inaccurate. By the end of the week, you'll see the true me," Newt supplies. And then, "Are you in the cab yet?"

"Literally just this second opened the door to one. What's your address?" Thomas asks. Newt tells him and Thomas relays the information to the older woman driving him.

"Shit. Okay, I'm gonna hang up now. Text me when you're outside. Oh my God I can't wait for you to get here. I'll pay the cabbie when you do," Newt says.

"Alright, bye. Love you."

Thomas entire world stops. Newt's already hung up by the time he says it, but he can still feel all of the blood in his body forcing itself through a few subtle pulse points. He had almost ruined everything. He has to be more careful. If Newt doesn't feel the same way, they're stuck with each other for a week.

Once Thomas's heart calms down enough, time shows right the fuck up again. Thomas is staring out the window, watching everything as the cab rolls by, just wishing he could  _get_ _there_. Not that London isn't absolutely beautiful and he doesn't want to see all of it. It's just that Newt is more beautiful.

They cross onto Newt's street, and Thomas can feel his heart rate start pounding thickly again. As soon as he sees the tall apartment complex, he knows that it's Newt's. Newt is inside of that building right now. Thomas is minutes away from meeting Newt for the first time.

He wishes that Minho and Teresa had international plans so he could text them everything that's happening. It's almost impossible for him to sit in the back of the cab, as it idly strolls up to the curb, and  _not_ explode. When he steps out, the door to the apartment complex looms over him. On the door is taped a small white envelope. Thomas leans down to tell the cabbie he just needs a minute, then walks over. The envelope reads in black pen on the back-

_Thomas. For the cab._

Thomas rips open the envelope. Inside is a colorful assortment of British pounds that he doesn't understand in the slightest. He takes it all out and hands it to the small woman in the driver's seat. She nods, wishes him a good one, and drives off. Thomas is still holding the envelope.

He turns around again, sends Newt a text.

**im outside**

After a very long second, his phone starts to ring. He answers it with confusion. It's Newt. "Hello?"

"Did you get the envelope?"

"Yeah."

"Good. Okay. I'm gonna buzz you in. Come on up," Newt says. In high contrast to his last phone call, he now sounds incredibly calm. Thomas has the thought that it's forced, so that they don't both actually have a heart attack before they meet. Thomas can feel the blood pounding in the back of his skull.

"Okay," he says, and walks inside. He hangs up and walks inside just as a small buzz and click sounds from the inner door.

Thomas reaches out, his hand feeling slightly hollow, and opens the door. He steps into a small white room that contains a door with a window that leads to a stairwell, and an elevator on the left. He presses the button for the elevator, reciting Newt's floor and flat number over and over and over in his head.

Thomas can feel energy pulsing around him like a constant buzz. He is acutely aware of his entire body. The elevator door slides open and Thomas slips inside. No one else is inside, so he presses number eight on the button pad and takes the silent ride up. He watches the lights as they flip up, from _L_ and onward, agonizingly slowly, until they finally reach number 8. Newt's floor.

Thomas steps out of the elevator, his legs sort of shaking. He's about to meet Newt. He's walking down Newt's hallway. That's Newt's door. Right there. He's standing in front of it, and Newt is just on the other side.

His suitcase stand on the ground just behind him, Thomas reaches up with shaking hands and knocks on the door. There's nothing for a moment, and then it opens. They take each other in for less than a second before they're rushing into each other, hugging so tightly that they will either break completely apart or fuse themselves together. Every inch of their fronts are pressed together, and Thomas can feel Newt's heart pounding through his own chest. Thomas grinning like a madman, his head shoved into the crook of Newt's neck. He wants to cry.

"Oh my God, you're a real shuckin' person, Tommy. I can't believe it," Newt says softly, right next to Thomas's ear. Thomas knows that he's going to remember those words for the rest of his life.

Thomas can't think of a witty reply, so he just hugs tighter. He wants to stay like this forever. The only reason he would ever come out of this position would be to kiss Newt. He wants to tell Newt he loves him. That would certainly make quite the first impression. But instead, all he does is nod into the curve between Newt's shoulder and neck.

Newt doesn't seem eager to break apart any time soon either, but at one point Thomas leans so heavily on him that they almost fall, so Newt withdraws. "Alright, let's get your bloody bags in so we can start this week."

Thomas nods again, because he doesn't want his first word to Newt to be "okay" either.

"Cat got your tongue or somethin'?" Newt asks, without any infinitesimal hint of a bite. He turns so that he can still see Thomas as he reaches past him to grab Thomas's bag. "Come on inside."

_I love you so much. I can't believe I'm here. You don't have to get my bag for me. I love your flat. I'm already dreading the end of this week._

Newt turns around once more, almost exasperated. "Jeez, Kid, you  _ever_ gonna talk? How was the plane trip? Are you hungry?"

Thomas looks at him, but still can't manage to find the right words for the situation. Newt seems to grasp this. He silently puts down the suitcase and steps forward, smiling almost shyly, and folds Thomas into another hug. Thomas draws him in like Newt is his life force.

"I'm so glad that I'm here," he whispers. It's the truth, and he's not entirely unsatisfied with it. Newt seems absolutely delighted by it.

"Hey, he speaks," he says. Thomas can feel the grin on Newt's face in his own neck. "Can you answer my questions now?"

"The ride was good but stupid long," Thomas answers. "And I could eat so much food right now."

"Perfect, I ordered take out." Newt pulls back, his smile lighting up his features. It makes Thomas feel like the ocean is crashing through his stomach, and his knees wobble lightly. "It's on the coffee table."

Thomas first begins to suspect that Newt may actually reciprocate his feelings when the Brit offers to let Thomas finish his fries. They watch some  _Doctor Who_ while they eat and get used to each other's presence. Eventually, it becomes the nicest Thomas has ever felt. He wants time to freeze. All too soon, Newt ruins it by declaring-

"Alright, time for the Grand Tour!"

The Grand Tour consists of four rooms. The first is a door just to their left, Gally's room. Newt doesn't let Thomas inside, for obvious reasons. Thomas is slightly intimidated by Gally. The next is the living room, which they're already pretty much in. It has warm walls and a soft rug, wooden floors and a couch set up in front of a flatscreen TV. The next room is the adjacent kitchen, with the bathroom linked to it. Their final room is Newt's bedroom, where Newt sets down Thomas's bags.

The bed has a plain white blanket, and a television lined up so that it can be seen from across the room. The dresser is pushed up against the wall next to the door, with clutter all over it. The hamper is in the corner of the room, and appears to be overflowing quite badly.

"So this is where you'll stay this week. I hope it makes you the most comfortable you've ever been in your buggin' life," Newt says.

"Wait, what about you?" Thomas asks in confusion.

"I'll take either the couch or Gally's room," Newt answers. "Haven't quite decided yet."

"But... this is your room," Thomas concludes spectacularly. Newt gives him a look that can only mean  _duh_.

"Funny enough, I figured that out on my own there, Tommy," Newt rebuttals. 

"Don't you want your own room?" Thomas persists.

"Well, unless you feel like sleepin' together," Newt says, rolling his eyes.

Thomas doesn't know what comes over him. He falls backward onto the bed, moaning something awful, reaching a hand toward his crotch. "Oh,  _Newt_ , God,  _Newt_ , sleep with me!" he belts out, wriggling like Newt is driving him crazy with lust. Like he does during his private time.

"Bloody  _hell_ , Tommy," Newt breathes heavily. "Warn a bloke if you're gonna tease him like that."

Thomas peaks up at Newt with a craning of his neck. Newt is actually...  _flushed_. If Thomas isn't careful, he's going to  _actually_ want to drag Newt to bed with him. "My bad," he mutters, sitting up.

"Well, don't strain yourself. I mean, you  _could_ always lay back down again," Newt suggests suggestively. Thomas looks down at his hands in his lap. Newt immediately leaps up with, "Sorry, I didn't mean to-"

"It's fine," Thomas cuts off. He looks up, thinks back to Newt sharing his fries. Time to take a chance. "Just... don't say that stuff if you don't mean it, okay?" He feels so fragile, like someone has thrown a glass vase through the air and it's Newt's job to catch it or let it break.

Thomas can see Newt's brain computing, processing what Thomas just said. After a second, he asks, "Who says I don't mean it?"

Something like a rock is shoved into the center of Thomas's heart, and the rest of it beats that much heavier. "W-What?"

"I thought it was the most obvious thing in the world that I've had a pretty giant crush on you since day one, Tommy," Newt explains, shaking his head. He walks forward until his left leg is pressed between Thomas's two legs that are sitting on the side of the bed, reaches a hand up and brushes back Thomas's bangs. Finally -  _finally_ \- Newt and Thomas kiss.

Thomas can feel his heart pounding in him like it's the only thing in his chest, but his response to Newt is automatic. He winds his hands around Newt's waist, pulls him closer and lets out a soft noise from the back of his throat.

"Best - day - ever," Newt says, between small kisses. Thomas laughs in the front of his throat and grins into the next touch of their lips together. Newt's fingers curl around his waist and his jaw. Thomas is too busy trying to memorize everything until he realizes that - oh.  _Oh_...

Maybe he isn't the only one that has private time inspired by his internet friend.

Newt notices Thomas notice, and he pulls apart swiftly. "We don't have to - to do anything-"

" _Please_ , are you kidding me?" Thomas mutters, and pulls Newt back into him. "I've been thinking about this for months. If we stop here, I might as well not have even come today." _  
_

Newt laughs quietly. Thomas is on Cloud Nine. This is the best day of his life. "Oh, you're gonna come today."

Thomas snorts. He can't believe those words came out of Newt's mouth and neither of their boners died at Thomas's hideous reaction. The hilarity doesn't last for long, though. Newt jumps at Thomas's distraction and uses it to take him by surprise, latches onto Thomas's neck with his mouth. He may as well have murdered Thomas.

Thomas lets out a small gasp, eyes flying wide open. Newt's hand slides from Thomas's waist to an area slightly closer, but  _not close enough_ to wear it needs to be.

"Are you sure?" Newt murmurs, right into Thomas's ear. Thomas can feel the want in his breath. "After all, you're still-"

"Put your mouth somewhere  _useful_ ," Thomas hisses, arching his hips up slightly. Newt's hands trace his movements, idling on the skin exposed beneath the hem of his shirt. Thomas shudders.

"Is this your first time?" Newt asks, and Thomas nods. "Okay. Tell me when it's too much. We can go as slow as you want to."

" _This_ is certainly too slow," Thomas insists. "If you don't start something soon, I'll get going without you."

That kicks Newt into motion. He reaches underneath Thomas's shirt and starts to pulls it up. Thomas lifts his arms and lets him. The air is only slightly chilly. He doesn't much notice.

As Newt throws Thomas's shirt somewhere to the left, Thomas reaches down and starts to undo the belt looped through his own pants. Newt's legs are still slotted between his. Thomas's hand brushes against Newt's erection, and Newt lets out a breathy moan.

"You're entire body is torture, Tommy," he says. "Lean back. We're doing this properly."

Thomas follows orders, his back sinking into the coolness of the blanket. Newt climbs on top of him, seats himself directly on top of Thomas's bulge. Thomas isn't sure that he isn't dead or dreaming. As he watches, Newt pulls off his own white shirt, discards it as easily as he did so with Thomas's. Thomas swallows slightly, eyes darting over the newly exposed skin. Newt begins rocking his hips.

Thomas's moan is nothing short of pornographic. His dick is throbbing. He reaches again for his belt, attempting to finish what he started a minute ago, when Newt wraps his hands around Thomas's wrists and pulls them away. He leans down and starts stroking up and down on Thomas's torso. Thomas shivers. He doesn't want to screw around with all of this, and yet he can't imagine being happy if Newt takes his hands away.

"Let me..." Newt murmurs, mouth so low that Thomas can feel hot breath on the hairs that trickle down underneath his jeans. He feels deft fingers sliding the belt out from under him, and then his jeans being unbuttoned. Everything about this is so much better than he ever imagined, with  _anyone_ or  _anything to do with_ sex. 

His pants and underwear are sliding down his legs, with Newt's help. "Fuck, Newt," Thomas whines, arching up.

"You're so bloody gorgeous, Tommy," Newt says. His voice is thick, and he's started subtly rocking against Thomas. "So bloody gorgeous..."

"What did I say about  _your mouth_?" Thomas asks, voice carrying slight irritation at the fact that he does not yet have Newt's stupid, terrible, obnoxious fingers inside of him yet.

And  _holy shit_ Thomas doesn't know if he should take it back or not, because Newt is now  _blowing him_. Newt has his  _mouth_ on  _Thomas's dick_ and  _Jesus Christ, Thomas does not know how to handle this_. Newt's tongue starts to move up and down, his tongue sliding along Thomas's shaft. Thomas has no filter. He lets out every single sound that comes from deep in his gut. Newt doesn't relent. Thomas's toes curl inward and he can feel the deep, warm pool of his imminent orgasm shifting around within him.

He can feel every trickle of Newt's saliva as it drips down his dick, sliding closer and closer to his body. Newt is making the most disgusting, irresistible noises, like his only purpose in life is to suck Thomas off.  Like it's the  _only_ thing he wants to be doing.

"Newt - Newt - gonna..."

Newt pops off and leans over Thomas. He brings his lips over to Thomas's ear and whispers, "Call me Jamie. When we're like this, call me Jamie." He starts to bite at Thomas's earlobe, flips them over so that Thomas is on top as he shimmies out of his pants and boxers.

Thomas nods. "Jamie. Jamie Jamie Jamie," he recites, like a prayer. Newt lets out a soft gasp, and then a moan. Thomas internally preens.

"Oh my God, you should come with a warning label, Tommy. You're bloody dangerous," Newt moans. Thomas can't bother to come up with a witty reply, because at that moment, Newt is using his own leftover saliva to work over his and Newt's dicks together, with one hand. Thomas wants to come so badly, wants Newt to be the one to do it.

"Please, Jamie. Ah! P-please."

Newt brings his face down into Thomas's neck, panting heavily, and bites softly at the skin there. "Come on, Tommy. Let go. Do it for me," he coaxes, and that's all Thomas needs. He feels his orgasm shoot out of him, and Newt groans, shoves his whole face into Thomas's shoulder as he spills out.

Thomas's bones feel like rubber. He doesn't care about the mess in between them, he wants to be as close to Newt as possible. He falls down and presses their chests together. Newt groans and giggles slightly, like Thomas is tickling him.

"Jesus Christ, you're sensitive," Thomas whispers, smiling lightly.

"Of course I am. I just had the best orgasm of my entire  _life_ ," Newt defends. "C'mere, smart-arse." He wraps his left arm around Thomas's bare back, brings it up so that his hand is cradling the back of Thomas's head. Thomas wants to stay there for his entire life.

"So that wasn't your first time?" Thomas asks idly. He isn't jealous or anything. Just curious.

"Well, that depends in how you mean," Newt says, his voice slightly scratchy from his post-coital bliss. "That was my third time, but it officially ranks as number one in ways of pleasure. Seriously, Tommy. You're never going back to America. I'm keeping you. You don't have a choice anymore."

"Perfect," Thomas mutters. "We should clean this up before I get too comfortable."

"Use my pants. Er, underwear. They should still be-"

Thomas cranes his neck around, spots the flash of dark red on the very edge of the bed. "Yep. Got them here. You sure you-"

"Yeah, do it."

Thomas leans up so that he can wipe the both of their stomachs clean, then discards the underwear as close to the hamper as he can get them. Before he even finishes the throw, Newt is bringing him back down on top of him. His eyes are nearly closed.

"So Jamie is your real name?" he asks. Newt nods. He looks like he's already half gone. Thomas can't bring himself to press the subject, seeing how tired he looks. "I like it," is all he mutters, then lays back down again. Newt struggles for probably two minutes to work the blankets out from underneath them and back over them without having either of them get up. It ends up being slightly useless, though, because as soon as he accomplishes his task, Thomas has to readjust himself. He's still laying on Newt's chest, but now significantly more off to the side.

"Let's go to sleep, Tommy. So excited that you'll be here when I wake up..." Newt mutters in his ear. In a moment, he's breathing softly, and Thomas is wondering how he got so lucky in life.

 

\+ + +

 

"Pssssssst. Tommy. Tommy.  _Psssst, Tommy_. Are you _deaf_ , Jesus Christ?"

Thomas peels open groggy eyes. He's never experienced jet lag before, and he sort of wants to die.

"Do you want to see a movie?"

"Newt...  _what_?" Thomas asks. He closes his eyes again, cuddles closer into Newt's chest. Newt's arms wrap protectively around him. Thomas hums happily.

"Do you want to go out and do something, like see a movie maybe?" Newt asks.

Thomas shakes his head.

"Do you want to go for a walk?"

Another shake.

"Do you want to go out somewhere and eat?"

Negative.

"Bloody hell, do you want to do  _anything_ , Tommy?"

"Thought I made it kind of obvious that I want to stay here for the rest of the day. Or my life," Thomas mutters, against Newt's shoulder. He can feel Newt's laughter before it leaves his body.

"Okay. Go back to sleep, handsome guy."

Thomas does, shamelessly. When he opens his eyes again, Newt is still there, slumbering peacefully. Thomas's joints are stiff. He stretches slightly, and Newt begins to stir beneath him. His eyes flick back, and the second he takes Thomas in, he breaks into a wide grin once more.

"Do you know how bloody crazy I am about you?" Newt asks. Thomas blinks at him, shakes his head.

"Tell me."

"Ha ha. Funny kid. You up for that movie now?" Newt inquires. Thomas considers it. All in all, he really doesn't want to leave this comfort, but Newt must be hellbent on going to the damn cinema. Thomas doesn't want to disappoint.

"We should shower first," he suggests.

"Care to save the planet, share one?" Newt offers.

Thomas grins, kisses Newt's chest. "Absolutely," he answers, but his eyes involuntarily flutter shut. He could fall back asleep, if he really wanted to.

"Then you keep your pretty, firm little butt here while I go get the water started," Newt says, then slides out from underneath Thomas. Thomas suddenly hates the invention of showers. Newt seems to reconsider his choice just as soon as he's out of the covers. Still entirely naked, he leans down and kisses Thomas in such contrast to how it was last night - like Thomas is holding all of his passion. It's so sweet and innocent and...  _shy_ that Thomas can hardly stand it.

He pulls back and hurries out of the room, leaving the door open. Thomas whistles after him. Newt's cackle fades as he turns farther away.

He looks around, takes in his surroundings. Late morning light is filtering in through white blinds. There are a few pictures on the walls, some places and streets and one sunset. The room is peaceful and quiet. Thomas flips onto his back and stares at the white ceiling.

Thomas wishes he could call Minho or Teresa. He's not quite in a position where he can snapchat them either, for obvious reasons. He isn't quite sure that he wants to get into it with them  _just now_ anyway, because the prospect of shower sex is already absolutely overwhelming, and Thomas's cock is definitely taking interest in the thought of it.

The slight patter of footsteps alerts Thomas to Newt's approach. He looks into the doorway just as Newt sticks his head into view. He must be a sight, limbs all splayed out and sheet just barely covering him. Thomas almost wishes it wasn't.

Newt seems completely put off task by this. He leans in the doorway, stark naked, and grins appreciatively. "That is a sight that I could definitely get used to, Tommy."

"Hey, back at ya," Thomas quips. "I assume you came to tell me that a lovely, warm, orgasmic shower is ready for me now?"

"You are exactly right," Newt says. He walks forward as Thomas sits and slides out of bed, so that Thomas stands right into his personal space. Newt picks up one of Thomas's hands and starts kissing the knuckles, staring at Thomas's face. Thomas stares right back. Without a word, Newt leads him by the hand, through the apartment, into the bathroom. The water is running and steam is already forming on the mirror when Newt presses Thomas against it and starts kissing him feverishly.

 

\+ + +

 

The movie they're seeing is nothing spectacular. Thomas has never heard of it before, and Newt seems to have some unspoken ulterior motive for taking him. About fifteen minutes in, that motive becomes alarmingly apparent.

Thomas should have had his suspicions the minute Newt suggested the back row. As soon as the exposition starts to dwindle, Newt's hand is creeping steadily closer to Thomas's crotch. On the one hand, he's ecstatic that Newt is so eager to mess with his dick. On the other, they are in an incredibly public place right now. That being said, there's also nobody else in their aisle.

Newt climbs expertly over the armrest so that he's straddling Thomas. It can't be comfortable. Thomas isn't complaining.

Newt leans down and attacks Thomas's neck with his lips, nipping and biting and kissing and sucking until Thomas is quite positive that the room is spinning. Impossibly, no one seems to notice them. The movie isn't even that good.

"I need to suck you off or I'll die," Newt breathes into his ear.

"That's a little... uh - Hyperbolic, don't you think?" Thomas rasps out. He wants Newt's mouth on him more badly than Newt does.

"I can't believe I'm so attracted to a guy who uses 'hyperbolic' in every day life," Newt whispers. Thomas can feel him rolling his eyes. He doesn't much care.

"Pretty sure blow jobs are not in my every day life," Thomas groans. He rocks upward slightly, in an attempt to acquiesce any kind of friction.

"They could be."

Thomas nearly comes in his pants right then.

"Can I?" Newt asks softly, his hands on Thomas's stomach, just over the waistband of his jeans. Thomas's thoughts are clouded beyond relief. He nods, eyes closed, tries his best to keep his groan from escaping. As if reading his thoughts, Newt murmurs, "Gotta keep quiet, Tommy. Don't wanna get caught."

Thomas sucks in a breath. How have the people around them not noticed this yet? If it isn't the rustling of fabric and hurried breaths, it has to be the smell of sex that should draw their attention.

"Shh, Tommy. Shhhh."

Thomas tries his best to make his breaths go lighter as Newt unravels his belt and tucks his hands under the band of Thomas's underwear. Thomas has never done anything like this. He has to bite down on his own tongue to keep back a whine.

Then Newt is kissing him, licking into his mouth and pressing in dabs against Thomas's tongue. Thomas receives and receives and receives and tries to do anything other than grip into Newt's hips like he'll die if he lets go. Newt's hand wraps around Thomas's hard, slick-with-sweat-from-Newt's-hand dick, starts jerking roughly as he demands utter control of Thomas's mouth.

Thomas gives it all up. He wants Newt to have everything. He can feel his stomach burning, the desire to let go overwhelming him-

Thomas is suddenly stuffing his dick back into his pants and apologizing profusely as a buff Hispanic man roughly "escorts" Newt and Thomas out of the theater. It causes quite a scene, and the only person with a face redder than Newt is Thomas.

They are walked to the door with the express instructions to never come to the theater again. Thomas can't even look at the guard, just nods. He turns tail and walks briskly around the corner, Newt following close behind him. Then, unexpectedly, Newt starts laughing his head off.

Thomas turns back, nerves wracked. "What are you doing?" he hisses in a high voice.

"I'm - I'm," Newt huffs through laughter. "I'm sorry, Tommy, but that was  _hilarious_."

Thomas's eyes pop. " _You_ are not the one who had your dick out and had to walk past  _children_ to leave!" Thomas says shrilly. "I've never been kicked out of anywhere, much less banned for life! One day with you, and already - look what's happened. You're a very bad influence, mister."

Newt actually does look mildly apologetic when he says, "I'm sorry, Kid," and steps close. But it's completely erased when he leans in and says, "Want to go finish what we started?"

Thomas's dick throbs - something he wouldn't have thought a possibility two minutes ago. Newt's hands creep back down his sides, fixate on his hips.

"You're actually insane," Thomas decides. He's drowning in Newt's scent.

"What can I say? You make me bloody crazy, Tommy," Newt says lowly. He kisses Thomas just below the ear, at the edge of Thomas's jaw. It's all Thomas can do to stay standing long enough until Newt pushes him into the narrow alleyway between two shops, far enough in that someone will only spot them if they're looking carefully.

"This is-"

"I'm completely unhinged just by being close to you. I'm not like this, you know me. But you make me - I can't keep my hands off you," Newt murmurs, as he drags his lips down Thomas's chest. "And I'm going to swallow it all."


	2. Chapter 2

The shower very nearly scalds Thomas. He doesn't necessarily care, it's just that on top of being in someone else's (very touchy) shower, he's pretty certain that his entire body has been thrown entirely out of whack. Like a desert becoming an ocean. And it's entirely because of all the sex he's been having with Newt. Some times the steaming water feels cold, or he shivers even though he's hot. Point blank: his dick really shouldn't have this much control over his body.

Newt mumbles something outside the door that Thomas can't hear over the heavy fall of the water, and a second later the door cracks open.

"God damn it, Newt, this is the  _third_ time today-"

"Fuck."

Thomas freezes. "Holy shit," he stutters weakly, and peers out from behind the blue curtain. That's definitely not Newt, opening the mirror and pulling out a green toothbrush, standing as frozen as Thomas with his mouth agape. They stare at each other like deer in headlights for five seconds before the guy who is not Thomas or Newt speaks.

"So you're Thomas," he says, like Thomas isn't  _naked_ behind a  _very thin curtain_. It suddenly clicks in Thomas's brain who is standing before him. He throws all of the "please don't kill me if you're a mass murderer" thought train out of his head.

"And you must be Gally," he says, his voice strained. "Newt's roommate. Who is supposed to be staying with Alby."

Gally holds up his toothbrush. "Forgot this. Thought you were Newt," he explains. Thomas doesn't know why he hasn't just  _left_ yet. "I, uh-"

"So, wait, then where is Newt?" Thomas doesn't want to consider the possibility of Newt and Gally invading each other's shower time to be a regular occurrence.

"Well, if I thought you were him, I obviously don't know. Look, do you really want to talk right now? I was planning to already be back outside by now. And I'm not gay, so if you think you can-"

"No! No, God no!" Thomas chokes, ducking back behind the curtain. "Yeah, get out! Go! Christ." He breathes raggedly as he hears the door shut. He almost doesn't believe that Gally has actually gone, but after a moment he forces the bravery to peek again and finds the room is indeed empty. Gally just left quite the impression, is all.

Thomas rinses his body a final time and shuts off the water. He steps out of the shower, dripping and unnerved, and reaches for the towel Newt had set aside for him before he had mysteriously disappeared during Thomas's shower. He dresses in the clothes stacked beneath the towel as fast as he's ever dressed and walks out of the bathroom, hair still very wet. It's sliding down into the collar of his shirt.

Newt is sitting on the couch when Thomas walks into the living room. There's a table covered in McDonald's in front of him, and the TV is locked on  _Masterchef Junior_.

"Heyyyy, there he is. Bumped into Gally on the way back from getting take-out. Did you hear him bangin' around?" Newt asks brightly.

Thomas's face flushes. "Something like that," he mutters, sitting down.

"How was your shower?"

 

\+ + +

 

Thomas wakes up naked again the next day. Newt is laying next to him, regarding him thoughtfully. It isn't creepy or anything. Thomas likes the way Newt's eyes are soft and warm and full of affection, like he's looking at the only thing in the world more important than air.

"You know, I did actually bring pajamas," Thomas says.

"I will succeed in this visit if you do not put them on once," Newt says matter-of-factly. He leans down and kisses Thomas's temple tenderly. Thomas can't help but smile. Newt abruptly sits up. "Now, as sex-able as you look right now, we should make something to eat before I have to go to work today."

"Your work is the worst," Thomas says. 

"I took as much time off this week as I could," Newt says helplessly, and pushes himself out of bed. Thomas wonders how he can possibly be so awake. One look at the clock tells him, however, that Newt has probably been awake for a while, just waiting for Thomas. Jet lag is stupid, taking his time from Newt away. He shakes himself out of the grog.

"So what am I gonna do?" Thomas asks.

"You could hang out at the mall. I do have some friends, you know. You could meet them and hang out," Newt suggests.

Thomas raises his eyebrows as he pulls on a pair of jeans. " _You_?  _Friends_? Thought I was your only friend," he teases. Newt rolls his eyes.

"Brenda will probably be free. She never has any plans," Newt carries on, as though Thomas is a very cute and very annoying fly on the wall. "You know, we should have a party or something for them to meet you and such."

"Yes. Let's make a person with anxiety the center of attention at a party with no notice beforehand. Brilliant plan," Thomas trills. He makes a point of going through Newt's dresser until he finds an acceptable shirt and dons it. Newt smiles fondly when the fabric tugs out from Thomas's eyes.

"Well, maybe the party isn't for you. Maybe the party is a poker game that Newt just so happens to want to throw when his new boyfriend is in town," Newt amends. He walks over to Thomas, still entirely naked, and kisses him innocently.

"Boyfriend?" Thomas asks, in a breathless moment between them. "I like the sound of that."

Newt is smiling so widely that it significantly disrupts their next kiss.

"Now get dressed, asshole."

 

\+ + +

 

Brenda is super pretty. Thomas is a little annoyed that Newt is so constantly surrounded by attractive people. He wishes that he had grown up right next door to Newt, that they had had the perfect fairy tale romance. He wishes that America wasn't full of all the gross people he knows. With Newt here, Thomas can't find a single fault in England.

The moment she spots him, Brenda gives Thomas a knowing look. Not even  _knowing,_ per se, so much as  _all-knowing_. She's texting when Newt walks Thomas over the threshold of the mall, but she looks up, and her eyes brighten. Something clicks. She scans her eyes over Thomas, and her smirk fills him with mild terror. She's wearing a white tank top and black yoga pants, her hair in a pony tail, but she's still the picture of evil.

"Hey, Newt," she says. "And Thomas." Her smirk turns into a genuine smile and she holds out her hand. Thomas, surprised to say the least, shakes it.

"Hey Brenda," Newt greets. "Yeah, he's a confused little puppy. Take good care of him. I'll be back in a few hours." He kisses Thomas, and Thomas's heart slows to a normal rate in the flurry of day. "Bye," Newt whispers, still close.

Thomas tries to bite his smile back, fails terribly. "Bye," he says. Newt doesn't leave for a long second. Then he turns so swiftly it's as though he has to turn off the entire part of his brain that knows about Thomas in order to walk away. Thomas turns back to Brenda.

"So," Brenda says briskly. Her voice is high and nice. "You're the one Newt has been unable to shut up about. I can see that he really  _is_ crazy about you. But not because of your adorable ugh-fest just now. Ask me how I know."

Thomas can't believe that a real person can be so forward. "How do you know?" he asks anyway.

Brenda takes one hand from her phone, uses it to signal Thomas closer. Somewhat reluctantly, Thomas leans in. Brenda brings her lips closer to Thomas's left ear and says quietly, "You're wearing Newt's shirt." She pulls back just as soon as the words hit Thomas's brain.

"I - what?" he asks. "Yeah, I..."

"His  _favorite_ shirt," Brenda emphasizes. "He treasures it. Like you wouldn't believe."

Thomas thinks back to this morning. Newt hadn't said a single thing when Thomas had matter-of-factly pulled the shirt on. He had looked pleased. Thomas looks down at his shirt like he's just been told it's of some holy descent. He can't find words.

"So, food court?" Brenda asks, looking down at her phone again to give Thomas his little moment of realization. "The Mexican place here is really good."

"You're not English," Thomas says, belatedly, as Brenda tugs him along through the crowd in what is apparently the direction of the food court.

"Yes, I am, thanks," Brenda says, in an entirely not-English accent. "My family moved here when I was eight from Alabama. But your confusion is understood."

"You know who you would like?" Thomas says, over the din of the public place. Brenda is still pulling him by the wrist. She makes a small noise that means Thomas should tell her. "You would like my friend Teresa. She's all about that empowered female thing."

Brenda stops so abruptly that Thomas almost crashes into him. She turns around semi-slowly, looks at him sweetly. "Oh, sweetie, you really don't know anything, do you?" she asks. Just as quickly, she turns back around and starts pulling Thomas along once more.

The food court is, somehow, less crowded. Brenda pushes Thomas into one of the uncomfortable tables and sets their food down between them. "So, how's life with Newt? Please skip the - hold on, that one's mine - please skip the sex details," Brenda observes him with cocked eyebrows over the straw of her drink.

Thomas doesn't know where the boldness in him comes from. He blurts, "Then, I don't have much to say."

Brenda snorts, starts laughing uncontrollably for a long second. She comes back from the attack grinning and nodding. She says, "Yep. We're going to be good friends. I approve of you, Kid."

Thomas almost groans. "Not you, too."

Brenda looks at him questioningly.

"Newt calls me 'Kid' a lot," Thomas explains. "It m-"

"Then I'll make sure to do it all the time, Kid," Brenda assures him. "Don't worry." She's smiling good-naturedly and, somehow, it doesn't bother Thomas as much now. He feels a sudden rush of affection for her that he can't explain, and it surely shows on her face.

 

\+ + +

 

The next day, Thomas expects another lazy day that might be filled with some video games or television or cuddling and definitely lots of sex. However, when he walks out of the bathroom at half past two, Newt springs on him the idea of a party again.

"-Only now it's not so much of an idea as solid plans with several people coming over and you will most definitely meet several over them except for it's really just a pizza party."

Thomas's gut wrenches, but not as badly as he might have thought it would. "Is Brenda coming?" he asks.

Newt shrugs. "I invited her. Why?" he asks.

"She and I hit it off yesterday," Thomas says. "I feel like I need support on both fronts here."

Newt chuckles lightly. "Tommy, believe me. You're going to be fine."

But Thomas is not fine. Thirty minutes and twelve introductions in, he feels like he might pass out. Brenda is thankfully here, but then, so are Alby and Gally and Ben and some guy named Zart and Clint and Jeff and Winston and Harriet and Sonya and Thomas can't even put the actual names to the faces, but he's been introduced to them so they might as well all be friends now. He finds himself ducking into Newt's bedroom not long after.

Minho and Teresa are both messaging him on Facebook, trying to get him to tell them everything that's happening. Finally, he can't take it any longer.

**Can you guys Skype with me?**

The affirmative response is almost immediate. Thomas pulls his laptop out of his bag and turns it on, breath slightly uneven. He misses them, he'll admit, and he wants to see them anyway. Nobody will notice he's gone for a few minutes, at least.

Skype powers up first, with the telltale whooosh sound. The sound is oddly soothing now, rather than annoying. He clicks it. Minho is already online. Thomas doesn't see Teresa yet, but he calls Minho anyway. When Minho answers, Teresa is already with him. In real life. Thomas is momentarily distracted from his anxiety.

"What?" he says immediately.

"You know, we're not all friends just because of you," Teresa says matter-of-factly. "Minho and I are allowed to hang out, too." She rubs her knuckles into his scalp and Minho makes several noises of protest, none of which are actual english.

"But it might be because you're not here and we have no other actual friends," Minho grants, trying to fix his hair in the webcam. "So? Tell us everything! How's Newt?"

"Uh, well, for one thing-"

"We saw your status. We know you're dating him," Teresa says, her eyebrows slightly challenging. Thomas can read her expression. She's offended that he didn't move heaven and earth to tell them the second it happened. Thomas feels no guilt. His hands had been full.

Just then, the door opens. Thomas's surprise shows on his face - but there's no need. It's just Newt. He looks slightly concerned.

"Hey, Tommy. You okay?" he asks.

"Ooohhhhh,  _Tommy_ ," says Teresa with relish. "Now I can see why you couldn't resist him, Tom."

Newt looks completely taken aback at the prospect of a talking computer. "What-?"

"Newt, I guess it's about time you meet Minho and Teresa," Thomas says, angling the laptop around so that Newt and Thomas's friends can see each other. "The Asian one isn't Teresa, by the way, despite his feminine features."

"Wow, Thomas, this guy doesn't look anything like the masturbatory pictures you showed us," Minho says loudly. Thomas nearly drops the computer. He can hear the sound of a hit and Minho's hiss of pain before he swings the laptop around again.

"Stop it, or he's going to mute us!" Teresa scolds. "And  _I_ , for one, would very much like to meet the knight in shining armor that has stolen our dear Tom's heart."

Newt seems thrilled. He jumps onto the bed next to Thomas, grinning. "Knight in shining armor here," he says. "Pleased to make your acquaintance."

Teresa grins. "Aww, our little boy is all grown up, Min. Look at this. They're adorable," Teresa says. Minho is out of screen, presumably on the floor. Thomas knows from experience that Teresa's reprimands are nothing if not taxing. He appears a moment later, clutching the side of his face and looking amiably offended.

"Hurry up and get back here before she kills me," Minho growls.

"No, sorry," Newt says. "He's staying here with me forever. We already decided this."

"We called first dibs!" Minho retorts.

The door opens for the second time. Thomas involuntarily flinches as though he's going to close the laptop.

"Oh, thank God. I figured I was taking a losing bet, but your clothes are still on. Phew," Brenda says from the doorway. She steps inside, straight up to the bed and leans in front of the monitor. "Whatcha up to?" 

"Skyping," Newt answers, sticking his tongue out at her.

"Ooooooh, are these your friends, Thomas? Budge over there, mate. Is that Teresa?" Brenda asks, as Thomas and Newt reluctantly slide over and Brenda climbs onto the bed. It's a tight squeeze, but the three of them have all managed to fit onscreen.

"Are you talking about me to your fancy foreign friends?" Teresa says, voice vindictive, but she doesn't sound truly offended at all. In contrast, she hasn't taken her eyes off of Brenda.

"Just saying that you're an empowered female," Brenda assures her. "I respect that." She nods solemnly. Teresa looks slightly awestruck.

"Thomas, you're not allowed to come back without her," Teresa says, face solemn. She looks at Thomas pointedly. Thomas nods and salutes.

"You're all gross. I need a girlfriend," Minho whines, still rubbing his temple.

 

\+ + +

 

"Okay, so, question," Thomas says, two nights later, throwing bits of fortune cookie at Newt from across the couch. Newt isn't even pretending to be intrigued by the television. He's been watching Thomas for the past ten minutes. "You said you'd be filming and live-tweeting this."

"That's not exactly a question," Newt says, wagging a finger. He picks a piece of cookie from his shirt and stuffs it in his mouth.

"Why did you lie?" Thomas asks. "They gave us their money and-"

"I didn't lie in the slightest," Newt says, with his mouth open like he can't believe the insinuation. "I've been filming and tweeting my cute little arse off.c Just check my Twitter, ya bloody shuckhead."

Thomas regards him suspiciously, but he pulls out his phone and opens the app anyway.

_cozy lil night in_

_havin a bit of a get together to introduce kid 2 some major losers_

_lots of film for today. will put a video together as soon as kid skedaddles. dont want to waste time w/ him_

_kicked out of the cinema whoops_

_headin to the cinema ayyyy_

Thomas looks up, slightly exasperated. "You really had to mention that we got kicked out of the theater?" he asks, rolling his eyes.

Newt shrugs innocently, eyes wide. "I didn't say how."

"Well what about the film?" he asks, like he's got Newt cornered. Newt looks like he's immensely pleased that Thomas has asked. He points a finger up at the ceiling.

"Got it all covered. Don't worry your pretty little head, Tommy," Newt says calmly. He's indicating a tiny black camera poised in the corner of the room. Thomas blanches.

"You've been - you kept it-?" Thomas trails off, picturing very vividly the numerous make out sessions they've had on this couch so far. Those are now all privy to the internet?

"I'm gonna edit it all, don't worry," Newt says, as though he's reading Thomas's mind. "They don't really need to see any of that... And I'm gonna blur your face out, so don't worry about that either."

Thomas looks at Newt curiously. "You don't have to do that," he says. "Actually, it would be kind of awesome to have every single person in the world know that you're hot for me."

Newt lets out a loud cackle. "And here I've been so careful to keep your identity a secret. It's almost like you don't appreciate my efforts, Tommy." He transfers his position to his knees so that he can be closer to Thomas. The camera catches another scandal that most certainly cannot make it onto Youtube.

 

\+ + +

 

Thomas doesn't want to count the days ticking by, one by one, on his fingertips. But, even time going as slowly as it'll possibly allow, it's all too fast. Knowing Newt is like sitting in sunshine. He can see his looming plane ride as the darkness that comes with the revolving of the sun. Soon, he'll be submerged again.

It's the last night. The last night in the foreseeable future that he and Newt will be together, at the same time, face to face, in real life. He doesn't want to do anything other than lay in bed, in the darkness, and stare at Newt's face, creased in concentration. It's like a mirror, tracing Thomas's indented eyebrows, wide eyes, and small frown.

"I wish you could stay," Newt says, breaking the stiff silence with a cracked voice. 

"Don't say that," Thomas begs.

Newt's brow twitches downward in confusion. "Why not?" he presses.

"Because then I might actually do it," Thomas murmurs in reply, readjusting himself into the cradle of Newt's arms. Newt's grip on him tightens instinctively. Thomas can't describe the feeling that blooms within him at this.

"Really?" he asks, staring at Thomas like he's a treasure.

Thomas swallows, nods slowly, not breaking eye contact. Newt hesitates, then licks his lips and plunges.

"Stay."

His voice is hoarse and desperate. Thomas feels something in his crack and break. It must be his resolve, because the next thing he knows, Thomas is saying-

"Okay." He's nodding, kissing Newt tenderly and passionately. "Okay, Jamie, I'll miss my flight."

Newt pulls back, like he's been gently startled. He's holding Thomas like he's so fragile that he might break just from looking at him. "Really?" he asks again.

Thomas nods again, and he means it. "I will," he says, falling back down onto Newt's chest. "I will, I promise. I promise..." He feels himself falling asleep rather quickly, with that worry pushed aside. He wants more time with Newt, and now he has it.

But he doesn't.

For some reason, he's woken up in what feels like the next second. The room, however, is significantly lighter. The sun is rising. Newt is in the corner of the room, covering the soft thump thump thump of clothes being thrown into a suitcase. Thomas's suitcase. Newt is packing Thomas's suitcase. Thomas sits up suddenly, heart hammering. He can't lose this.

"Newt, I - what are you doing?" he asks, voice breaking from either sleep or emotional strain. Thomas is leaning toward the latter. Newt looks up, almost like he's ashamed with himself.

"I was being selfish last night," he says. "You and I both know that you have to be on that flight today."

Thomas looks down, feeling slightly sick. Deep down, he'd been expecting this. "I know," he says softly. The words feel like they should be coming out as vomit instead.

It seems like in no time at all, Thomas is at the airport again. Newt is holding him on the hips with both hands, kissing him in any place that isn't his mouth so that they can still talk.

"And we'll set up a Skype schedule, and school is only another month before summer break. And we'll - we'll figure something out," Thomas promises, as Newt presses closer still, nodding.

"Yeah," he says, halfheartedly. They both know that Newt can't go with Thomas through security without buying a ticket. This is the last time they can be together.

"I don't want to leave."

"You have to." Newt sounds like the words are killing him to get out.

"Please, Newt... Please," Thomas says, although he doesn't know what he's begging for.

"You don't want to miss your flight," Newt says. This time, he kisses Thomas right on the lips, like Thomas's mouth is the only source of oxygen in the world. Thomas retaliates in kind. Then, he takes a half-step back. He's about to go...

Newt pulls him back one more time, pecks him again. Thomas can feel his heart shattering. He doesn't want to go back to what they had before. It isn't enough now.

Numbly, clumsily, he steps backward, still looking at Newt. "I'll see you soon," he says. Newt nods, but he's looking at the white floor sadly. Thomas can't bear to see it, so he turns around and heads through security.

 

\+ + +

 

Thomas doesn't know how, but upon seeing the interior of the plane, his whole body aches with relief. He can't think of something more perfect for the situation.

" _Chuck_?"

The small, curly-haired boy looks up at his voice. There are seldom few other people on board. He looks amazed.

"Thomas!"

Thomas makes a beeline for him, hoists his luggage on top of the seats. Chuck is beaming, patting the aisle seat next to him excitedly, bombarding Thomas with questions. Every one of them makes Thomas's heart sink slightly. He doesn't get mad at chuck, though. He's so glad to see this kid.

When he sits, though, and has to explain what happened, he can feel his eyes giving in to the strain of it. Chuck looks slightly taken aback, and then develops an incredibly cool persona.

"Sorry," Thomas mutters, wiping at his eyes and leaning forward, trying to get a hold of himself. He can feel Chuck's hand on his back.

"I dunno what you're talking about," the little boy says.

"What?" Thomas looks back at him, beyond confused. The evidence of his heartbreak is beyond apparent. He's almost offended that Chuck hasn't noticed. But -  _oh_.

"Thomas. I don't know what you're talking about." He keeps rubbing Thomas's back. "Let it out, okay?"

And Thomas does. By God, Thomas lets it out.

 

\+ + +

 

Almost a month later, and Thomas is almost finding life bearable again. He's sitting in his room, powering through some of the worst math homework he's ever seen in his life, when his phone buzzes. It isn't Newt, however. It's Minho.

can i come over

**are you kidding you know I have that test tomorrow**

if you dont let me come over you will severely regret it

also i'll kill you

**fine but youre making yourself useful and beating this song on guitar hero for me**

good. im outside, with a present

Thomas is beyond confused when he goes downstairs to answer the door. His mom and dad are both out. Date night, or whatever. They had both looked rather coy when telling him.

He opens the door, would have dropped anything, had he been holding it. Minho is standing there, beaming, talking before Thomas has time to register the words. "He Facebooked me through you asking for a ride from the airport. Thought you might like the surprise."

Thomas switches his gaze to the familiar stranger on his doorstep, heart thudding heavily throughout his entire body.

"Heya, Tommy. I'm back."

**Author's Note:**

> well
> 
>  
> 
> i proofread some of it


End file.
